Wing & Claw 3_Beast of Stone

  “Don’t be going all soggy on me,” she said over her shoulder as she marched off.

  And that was her good-bye.

  Raffa climbed the steep stairs. At the top was a pair of cellar doors that opened into an alley behind the inn’s storage sheds. He held his breath and listened but heard nothing. Cautiously he pushed up one of the wooden panels and peeped out through the crack.

  No one was about. He clambered out, then sat down on the door frame in the shadows against the wall of one of the sheds. He pulled the leather rope out of his rucksack and began inspecting it, retying loose knots, doubling up frayed sections. It was work he really did need to do; it made him look like he had a reason for being there, and it also provided an excuse for him to keep his head down.

  Guards would be searching for him after his escape. But it wasn’t only the guards; Raffa couldn’t help wondering about everyone he saw. Were they Afters? Or were they among those who had been chanting “AFTERS OUT!”?

  Afters had come to Obsidia from lands all over the continent, which meant that you could not tell an After by his or her appearance. Some were fair, some dark like Kuma, and others every skin hue in between. The original settlers of Obsidia were mostly—but not all—fair-skinned. After two centuries of life together, there was hardly a family in the land without mixed blood somewhere in their lineage. Until the events of the last few weeks, Raffa had never wondered about whether people were Afters or not.

  He didn’t like wondering now.

  The sheds had once held barrels of appletip; he saw the rotting remains of a few barrels and smelled traces of the beverage. He could also see a newer storage building closer to the inn itself; the sheds appeared to have fallen into disuse. He heard voices in the distance as travelers arrived and departed from the inn, but no one came near the sheds.

  When the sun had lowered itself to just above the horizon, he felt a stirring under his tunic. He brought out the perch necklace as Echo stretched his wings.

  “Skeeto,” Echo said.

  “Yes, Echo, I know you need to feed. But don’t go too far, okay? And whatever you do, stay away from people. I’ll whistle for you if I have to leave here.”

  The bat chirped in reply, and as Raffa watched him fly off, he felt a mix of emotions: joy at seeing Echo in his element, so graceful and at home in the air, and worry that this might be the time Echo did not return to him.

  He didn’t have long to fret, for soon he heard the sound of a wagon approaching. It looked like Fitzer’s wagon, but Raffa wasn’t taking any chances: He picked up the rope and ducked his head again. He would wait until the wagon passed him and then look up.

  The sound of the horse’s hoofs slowed, and the wagon creaked to a stop right in front of him.

  “You’d be young Santana—Mohan’s boy? Raffa, isn’t it?”

  Raffa raised his head and saw the wagon driver. Sturdily built, with fair skin and reddish hair, Fitzer was wearing a brown tunic and trousers, boots, and a felt hat. He looked like a great many other working men—except for one thing.

  The right side of his face was livid with a large purple skinstain, deeply scarred and pitted by acne. It made an ordinary face appear monstrous.

  “Nothing happened, just born like this,” Fitzer said in a voice both good-natured and resigned. Raffa was abashed to realize that he had been staring. He searched his mind for some way to atone, and blurted out the first thing that popped into his head.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  It’s true, he thought, surprised by his own words. None of us can choose how we’re born, or what we’re born with.

  A shadow seemed to fall across Fitzer’s brow as he studied Raffa’s face, and Raffa began to worry. Does he think I’m mocking him?

  No, it seemed that Fitzer liked what he saw, for the shadow vanished. “Too true, young Santana,” he said. “Never heard it put that way before.”

  Raffa wasn’t quite sure where to look. The skinstain darkened one side of Mannum Fitzer’s face so that the other eye stood out. Raffa found himself wanting to look at that eye more as they talked. He had to remind himself to look at Fitzer’s whole face.

  “We’ve met before,” Raffa said, “sort of.”

  “If you mean that your da has talked about you, sure upon certain,” Fitzer said. “Don’t think I ever met a man prouder of a son than he is.”

  Raffa’s face grew warm with both surprise and pleasure; his father rarely praised him. He wondered what Da had said to Fitzer.

  “Thank you, but that’s not what I meant,” Raffa said. “I owe you.” Pause. “For a ride.”

  Fitzer cocked his head. “What do you—” Realization lit up his eyes. “Oh, shakes! That was you, was it?” He barked out a great guffaw of laughter. “You’re very welcome!”

  Raffa grinned. A whole long conversation had just taken place between them in only a few words.

  Fitzer climbed down from the wagon. “Looks like we can talk here for a bit,” he said. “I’ll tell you what there is to tell.”

  After looping the reins around a post, Fitzer sat next to Raffa.

  “First thing I have to say won’t be easy to hear,” Fitzer said. “I just came from seeing your mam. But I’m to take you to a safe place, and you’re not to try to see her.”

  Raffa wanted to beat his fists on the wall and cry like a baby. Why? Why can’t I see her? He blinked hard a few times. “I guess you’ll be telling me the reason,” he said, his lips stiff.

  “I will,” Fitzer said. “Your mam, she’s been pothering ever since she came to Gilden in the fall, in between her trips to look for you. She’s so good at it that all the Commoners want her. Even the high-ups like the Chancellor. So for a while now, your mam has had the run of the Commons, visiting all their homes and chatting with them, and even more than that, talking to their servients and tendants. I guess you could say that she’s been working as kind of a spy.”

  Mam, a spy?

  Raffa’s mouth fell open, but just as quickly he snapped it shut. Why not? Hadn’t Trixin agreed to do the same kind of thing, and her not even a grown-up yet?

  And in that instant, Raffa understood Mam’s behavior in the Hall of Deemers. She had not testified against Mohan, but she had also refused to bear witness on his behalf. And she had been sitting with Uncle Ansel, who had betrayed Raffa in more ways than one.

  It’s because she couldn’t give away what she was doing. She had to stay in their good graces, Uncle Ansel’s and the Chancellor’s, so she could keep finding things out.

  “Took a while, but eventually she pieced together what the Chancellor was planning. Nobody could believe it at first. But she and your da and other folks started making plans of their own.”

  “Oh!” Raffa felt as if he had just shed a coat made of stone. For months it had seemed to him that he and Garith and Kuma were alone in fighting the Chancellor. What a relief to know that his parents had joined the cause! At the same time, he found himself a little miffed that plans had been made about which he knew nothing. Don’t be silly, he told himself firmly. We couldn’t have defeated her alone—we’ll need all the help we can get.

  “Your mam found out about the move to evict the Afters from the slums more than a week ago,” Fitzer said. “And since then, it’s been all shakes and tremors, everybody getting ready in secret. Afters have been leaving the slums a few at a time. We didn’t want the guards or anyone to know that we knew. And most of the rest are going to leave, too. Not in three days, and not to the Suddens, but tonight.”

  He shook his head regretfully. “There’s some who are staying. They can’t believe it, or don’t want to. No convincing them to leave.”

  “Leave to go where?” Raffa asked.

  “To the Forest. To hide and to get ready to fight.”

  At these words, Raffa felt a swash of eagerness and excitement.

  The Forest of Wonders! It was many things to many people. To Gildeners, it was frightening and unknowable. Their ideas about the Forest were twi
sted with half truths and exaggerations, rumors and whispers of deadly plants and deadlier beasts. Those from the outlying farmsteads and settlements did not fear the Forest so much as they respected it, preferring to collect their firewood from less forbidding woodlands.

  Raffa’s friend Kuma was among the few who rejoiced in exploring the Forest alongside her friend Roo, the great golden bear. And the people who most loved the Forest were the apothecaries, like Raffa’s family. Raffa had spent his whole life learning about Forest plants, some dangerous, others healing or healthful or delicious. The Forest was one of his favorite places in the whole world, and he had not been there in more than half a year.

  “Folks from the settlements have been in the Forest for a good week now, getting ready,” Fitzer went on. “Nobody knows the Forest very well, except maybe you pothers, but the guards are mostly Gildeners, and they don’t know it at all. It’ll give us an advantage when the time comes.”

  When the time comes.

  Fitzer explained still further. What Raffa’s mother, Salima, had discovered confirmed his worst fears. The Chancellor, anticipating that there would be resistance to the evictions, had prepared the animals for a battle in the slums. Her earlier assertion that the animals were being trained to do the work of humans was merely a ruse to cover her actual intent. Mohan and Salima had allied themselves with a small group of others to lead the opposition, and the decision had been made to set up a base camp in the Forest.

  “We’re not going to let her chase the Afters out of Obsidia. It’s as simple as that,” Fitzer said. “Not without a fight, anyway.”

  Once again Raffa was shaken by a sense of guilt and obligation. Not only had his use of a rare scarlet vine led to the dosing of the animals, but his actions since then had endangered his family and friends. He had to make up for that somehow.

  The adults would shoulder the main burden of planning the resistance. But there has to be something I can do. Something real.

  How could he help? What was he good at? Well, that was easy.

  Apothecary.

  Pothering is part of the problem. Maybe it can be part of the answer, too.

  Raffa frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown, not a downcast one. He was thinking hard.

  Thinking of ways to use apothecary to defeat the Chancellor.

  Chapter Six

  FITZER went to the inn to buy bread and cheese, taking Raffa’s waterskin to fill. While he was gone, Raffa summoned Echo. The bat landed and assumed his usual perch, upside down on the twig necklace that Raffa always wore.

  Raffa was still preoccupied by everything Fitzer had told him. As usual, Echo seemed to sense his mood.

  “Raffa no good,” Echo said. “Eat Raffa good.”

  With a rueful smile, Raffa realized that Echo was right: The last thing he had eaten was Trixin’s oatcake—tasty but not very filling. “Mannum Fitzer is bringing some food, Echo. Here he comes now.”

  “Raffa eat,” the bat repeated.

  “I will, I promise,” Raffa said. “And Echo, I’m going to introduce you to Fitzer.”

  “Friend Fitzer?” Echo asked.

  Raffa had debated keeping Echo hidden from Fitzer. But if Mohan thought Fitzer was solid, that was good enough for Raffa.

  “Yes, friend,” he replied. Then he had another thought. “That’s a good idea, Echo. From now on, I don’t want you to talk around other people unless I tell you they’re a friend, okay?”

  “Friend okay,” Echo said.

  Raffa introduced Echo to Fitzer as his pet bat, even though Echo wasn’t really a pet.

  Fitzer looked at the bat with interest. “Is that the one—does he really talk?” he asked.

  “Friend Fitzer,” Echo said, with impeccable timing.

  Fitzer grinned. “Hello there.”

  “Did you know about him because of the reward?” Raffa asked.

  “Yes. But even before that, there were rumors. Last fall, was it? Some guards claimed to have heard a talking bat. And then the rumors kind of died down for a while, but they started up again right after the trial.”

  That made sense. The first time Raffa escaped from the Garrison, Echo had been there. At least three guards had heard him speak. Then, at Mohan’s trial, Raffa had become the center of attention, which would have started up the rumors again.

  “I tried to keep it a secret even before the reward,” Raffa said. “I was scared that someone might try to take him away from me.”

  Fitzer nodded sympathetically as Raffa tucked Echo down the front of his tunic.

  “Let’s eat,” Fitzer said. He had brought something much nicer than ordinary bread: a hot pastry turnover filled with egg and cheese.

  Raffa thought he had never tasted anything so delicious in his whole life. They ate quickly, and as Raffa licked his fingers, Fitzer took a look around to make sure they were still alone.

  The wagon bed was empty except for a sheet of canvas that lined the bottom. Fitzer pulled aside the canvas, then slid open a trapdoor that had been cunningly cut and fitted. Beneath the wagon bed was space for at least two people. Not terribly comfortable, but tolerable for short journeys.

  “Made it on your da’s advice,” Fitzer said. “I told you, we’ve been taking Afters out of the slums for a few days now. Your turn.”

  Raffa climbed in and lay down, putting his waterskin within easy reach. The space in which he was hidden was a kind of wooden box. Like a coffin, he couldn’t help thinking with a shudder.

  Despite that ominous thought, he was asleep even before the wagon pulled out onto the road.

  Raffa woke to a knock above his head.

  “You awake?” Fitzer said. “We’re nearly there.”

  The wagon rolled to a stop. Fitzer whistled, and Raffa heard an answering whistle. Fitzer released Raffa from the hiding place, then jumped down from the wagon.

  It was well after sunfall. Raffa knew at once that they were near the Everwide River; he could smell its distinctive watery, muddy, reedy odor. Where exactly were they, and what were they doing here?

  Echo poked his head out. “Eat skeeto,” he said. “Eat skeeto eato skeeto keeto seeto—”

  He was so hungry he couldn’t keep his words straight. As much as Raffa wanted to keep the bat safe with him, he knew it wasn’t fair to Echo. He had to let the bat hunt freely.

  “Shusss, Echo. We’re going to be with other people now. Don’t talk, okay? And you can go ahead and feed, but please don’t go too far. Come find me once in a while, so we can keep track of each other.”

  “Eat skeeto, find Raffa,” Echo said, and flew off without waiting for a reply.

  Raffa climbed down, stiff and clumsy after his cramped ride. He saw the bobbing light of a torch approaching.

  “Once upon a time,” Fitzer called softly.

  “Happily ever Afters,” came the answer.

  Raffa peered through the darkness. In the wavering light, it was difficult to see—

  “RAFFA!”

  Someone flew at him and nearly knocked him down with a hug of greeting. “I thought you’d never get here!”

  Raffa laughed as he embraced his enthusiastic welcomer. “Hoy, Jimble! I’m glad to see you, too.”

  Trixin’s younger brother was ten years old, blond like his sister, with ceaseless energy and enthusiasm despite having to look after his three younger siblings all day, every day. During Raffa’s time in Gilden, Jimble had helped out in ways both large and small, and had gotten his gang of friends to do the same. In only a few days, Raffa had become steadfast friends with both Jimble and Trixin.

  “We came yesterday, me and the babies,” Jimble said, “with Mannum Fitzer, in the wagon. This guard, she asked where were we going, and Mannum said he was taking us all on a picnic, and he’d organized it with me that I should get the twins to cry if there was any guards about, and Camma and Cassa set up with such howling that the guard couldn’t wave us on quick enough!”

  Raffa laughed again. He had met Jimble’s siblings, and had no do
ubt that Camma and Cassa, the five-year-old twins, would have done their part with great zeal. Maybe baby Brid had joined in for good measure.

  “Where are they now?” he asked.

  “Asleep,” Jimble said. “And Brid, too.”

  He gave Raffa’s sleeve a little tug and leaned toward him. Raffa bent his head so Jimble could whisper in his ear.

  “Is he here with you?”

  Raffa tilted his head and looked up. “He’s out there somewhere, feeding,” he whispered back. Jimble had recently been introduced to Echo and was one of the few who had heard the bat speak.

  “You know about the reward?” Jimble said, his eyes wide. “Forty coin!”

  Raffa gaped. Forty coin was the amount a skilled laborer might make in a month. Echo represented the perfect intersection of the Chancellor’s obsessions with both apothecary and animals. She’s determined to get her hands on him, he thought with a shudder of fear. It was a dilemma he had faced before: his desire to keep Echo safe warring with his knowledge that the bat needed to be free to feed on the wing.

  “We’ll have to be extra-careful with him,” he said slowly. “I’ll try to give you a chance to talk to him later.”

  Jimble smiled and nodded and winked and put a finger to his lips all at the same time.

  They had begun walking and were soon on a path that cut through tall reeds. Raffa recognized the green glow of lanterns and lightsticks made with the essence of phosphorescent fungi, a botanical invention of his mother’s. This light was ideal for times when stealth was needed, as it illuminated the immediate area without shining too brightly. But the slum dwellers knew very little of apothecary; someone else had to have provided the essence. Mam, maybe? Or Garith?

  The riverbank hummed with near-silent activity. Raffa saw the water flowing to his right and knew that they were still on the Gilden side.

  Then he spotted someone he recognized: Jimble’s friend Davvis, tall and slim and dark-skinned. Raffa had met him in Gilden, when Davvis had helped Raffa lace a cartload of fish with antidote powder, part of an attempt to free the captive animals.